Struggling to sit up, her mother grabbed the back of the chaise lounge, using it for leverage. “Where are you going now? Surely, if all is well with Richmore, then you can stay home.”
“Surely whatever you are doing can wait?” her aunt asked her, folding her arms.
“It cannot, but I promise to return as soon as I am able.” She squeezed her mother’s shoulders, giving her a kiss to the temple. “Now I must pack, then I’ll join you both for dinner.”
Winnie stood, trying to rush out of the room, but her aunt followed behind her. Once they were outside the parlor, Uriana wrapped her arm around Winnie’s. Blue eyes, like Winnie’s and her mother’s, peered at her. “You and I both know that Richmore is not allowing us to remain at Brown Manor.”
Winnie lifted her chin, not willing to admit the truth, not even to her aunt. “I do not know what you mean.”
Releasing a weary sigh, Uriana nodded her head before letting go of Winnie’s arm. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Winifred.”
Taking a deep breath in and releasing it, Winnie decided she knew perfectly well what she was doing, and it would work.
She would mend the debacle they now found themselves in, and most of all, they all could live at Brown Manor, happy and undisturbed by the Duke of Richmore.
Pleasure House was more than a den of sin. It was a home. Though only the second time Winnie had stepped inside its lavish doors, she felt safe there. Not only that, but she could surmise that every occupant of the home was comfortable. It wasn’t just a place of business; it was somewhere they could be themselves, could be protected.
Winnie arrived the morning of the party, not knowing exactly what to expect. She had only heard of debauchery and fallen women, but what she saw were women just like her thrown aside by society and left to pick up the pieces of their lives.
She changed into a crimson-red gown of her own creation, one she would never wear normally. The decolletage was low—so low that her apple-shaped bosoms appeared much larger than they actually were. The snug fit hugged every dip and curve of her, which, in her opinion, was a bit too much in certain places. Being sequestered in the country, Winnie had never worn such a garment.
After creating several gowns for Kitty for years, Winnie finally found the courage to sew one for herself. Sewing had long been a love of hers, one that grew into a passion.
Heads turned curiously toward Winnie as she walked down the long hall, passing finely dressed women preparing for the masquerade ball. Each step she took made her more confident that this was the right choice for her life. This was not about pleasure or doing something for herself for once. It was about her mother and aunt, the two women she loved most in the world. She would save Brown Manor.
Perhaps Winnie was being foolish, but a thrill of excitement ran up her spine, and suddenly she was ready to face the future.
She reached the parlor where she was to meet Kitty. The ball had begun, music wafting through the house. Winnie was sure that her friend wanted to persuade her not to continue with her outrageous plan. It was too late. Winnie’s mind was set. For one night she would no longer be plain Winifred, who had been thrown aside carelessly by her despicable husband. For one night, she would be someone else.
“You’re a pretty one,” a redheaded woman with curves in abundance said as she stepped in front of Winnie, blocking her path. The midnight-blue gown she wore had a plunging neckline that revealed a hint of an areola.
Shocking!
Another woman wearing a deep-green gown that hung low on her shoulders, her raven-black hair hanging down her back, joined the other woman to ogle Winnie. “Must be the new girl Kitty’s been talking about. Where did she find a fresh one like you?” Her eyes trailed down Winnie’s form. “The gents are going to love you. What’s your name?”
The parlor door opened, revealing Kitty in a bright-yellow gown, two masks in her hand. “Her name is Sarah. Now go, our guests are arriving.” She handed them the two masks, not allowing them to say a single word.
The two women gave Winnie one last lingering look before walking away.
She entered the same parlor she had first visited a sennight earlier, noting the table of masks by the door.
“This is your last chance, Winnie,” Kitty said before she walked over to the table.
A tremor vibrated through Winnie’s body, betraying her prior conviction. She was here, and there would be no turning back. “I’m ready, Kitty. I don’t need your protection. My mind is set.” The shaking in her voice nearly revealed her fear, but she would not let it consume her.
Winnie walked over to her friend, looking down at the elaborate masks that lined the table. They varied in both color and design—black, white, red, and green, some with feathers, some without.
Kitty chose a gold mask decorated with stones around the eyes. “Very well. I must recommend that you wear your mask. Do not remove it, even in the throes of passion.”
Winnie’s entire body felt as if she was standing by a fire at the thought of keeping a mask on while she was in the act of lovemaking.
How would that even be possible?
Indeed, Winnie knew little about the act itself. She knew enough since her husband tried frequently, but to no avail. “If I remove it or he asks me to?”
“Don’t. Your reputation and mine depend on it,” Kitty reminded her, sounding just like Winnie’s aunt.
It was hard for Winnie to forget everything that was at stake. Not only could she tarnish her very limited reputation, but Kitty’s business was also at risk.
